


Is This Real Life? Or Is This Just Fantasy?

by Nwar



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Clone Sex, Dream Sex, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Two Aziraphales?? The feminists are taking over! (Crowley's an adult virgin), angel visiting in a dream, sex with a vagina, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 04:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20594861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nwar/pseuds/Nwar
Summary: Aziraphale pops up in a dream of Crowley's.





	Is This Real Life? Or Is This Just Fantasy?

**Author's Note:**

> 1) my first time writing porn.  
2) inspired by this textpost: https://scontent-mia3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.15752-9/69918442_2581825868770483_4783557312394559488_n.jpg?_nc_cat=110&_nc_oc=AQmhGVePvqZ-sxZEn8OzB-SCJq7TL4Fvx9HXIEcAwzL29JkUDmJT5Ov9-nwpZx6LvUA&_nc_ht=scontent-mia3-1.xx&oh=5359dd07c6ca1c945c3e89dc6b66fe0f&oe=5DF0DC12

Crowley loved to sleep. The thing they never mention about immortality is the utter boredom; after the first few hundred years, it’s like a very long and useless sunday afternoon. You don’t have anything you have to do, so you don’t have anything to do, and the apathy breeds sloth.  
Crowley loves the feeling of not setting an alarm, having absolutely nothing pressing for the next fifty years, the freedom to simply go back to sleep every time he wakes up.  
He loves the deliciously soft bed beneath him, the silk of his pajamas, the syrupy excitement of brushing his teeth and setting under the sheets, reaching a serpentine arm out to pull the lamp cord.  
Crowley, however, has a wily enemy hidden within his slumberous lover. He fears dreams.  
Dreams are the only thing in his life that Crowley doesn’t have control over. He wakes up when he wants, dresses in whatever suits him at the moment, makes little miracles to solve minor inconveniences, and since the failed endtimes, he does or doesn’t do whatever sins please him. Dreams, however, leave his hands tied. If his demonic consciousness decides to make him have nightmares of burning and falling, he has to sit there and take it. If he’s gifted with sweet luxury in the soft arms of a cloud, he isn’t aware of how much he should be treasuring that experience.  
Yes, dreams were an enemy. Nightmares or sweet dreams, Crowley would rather have sweet oblivion until he blinks back to life.  
Crowley, a few months following the great event, was trying to completely clear his mind while he waited for unconsciousness to take him. He tried to not think of anything in particular. Tried to just throw every thought away to spare every risk of sparking a dream.  
It didn’t work.  
The movie he’d seen the day before, a gruesome horror-comedy, starred in his dreams tonight. He dreamed of breaking ladders, fire, and bloody cigarettes. He woke the next morning distinctly irritated and slightly disturbed. He dressed and sauntered down to Aziraphale’s bookshop.  
“Mmm, have a little lie-in this morning, did we?” Aziraphale said brightly. He came out of the back room already holding a second cup of tea for Crowley.  
“I’d rather have not slept at all, honestly,” Crowley said, taking a sip of the perfectly temperate drink that was more honey than tea. “I had-- dreams.”  
“It’s because you watch those movies,” Aziraphale said, nose in the air. “You do it to yourself.”  
Crowley watched as Aziraphale took a thick sip and that adorable button nose crinkle in delight. Crowley stifled a soft smile. Demons aren’t meant to be fond. “You could be right. Do you sleep much?”  
Aziraphale shrugged as he settled back in his armchair, watching Crowley fling out onto the couch. “Sometimes. If I’m feeling low, sleeping is a comfort.”  
Crowley’s eyebrows furrowed. The subject changed, and he lost the thought he’d almost had.  
That night, Crowley dreamed of a crying angel, as he sat tied in ropes, unable to reach him.  
“Bit on the nose,” he muttered to himself upon waking.  
After that day, Aziraphale appeared in almost all of his dreams. Sometimes it was tragic, his angel in pain, and he unable to help. Sometimes it was sweet, the two of them sharing wine and sitting on the moon. Other times it was boring, just things they did anyway-- walking in the park, or eating at the Ritz, but the dream was improved by the warm feeling Crowley had when Aziraphale was by his side.  
It was months later that the first dream of his angel was anything other than G rated. He and Aziraphale had been out in the city that day, since the angel wanted to try a new cafe. Crowley suspected that he kept a mental map of all of the cafes in London, regularly updated and annotated as each one opened or closed.  
They were seated and served by a distracted, dark haired woman. Aziraphale took in the eclectic decor before catching Crowley’s eye and smiling. Crowley rolled his eyes.  
The real problem came, however, when Aziraphale ordered the house made cream puffs with his hot cocoa. Crowley sipped his black coffee as Aziraphale gently unwrapped the pastry, eyes shining with hedonistic excitement.  
The thought occurred to him that perhaps Crowley was to sleep as Aziraphale was to food.  
The angel finally delicately picked up the puff and took a bite. The thick white cream was pushed out the other side of the flaky dough and dripped in glops down the back the outside edge of Aziraphale’s hand.  
Angels and demons, of course, are not bound by common human inconveniences like response time or optical impediments. So Crowley was able to essentially slow the moment down, watching frame per frame as Aziraphale took his bite, the way his eyelids fluttered as the sweet filling suffused his tongue, his eyes widening as he felt the pastry bursting, the cream as it dropped down his hand in sickeningly sweet portions.  
In this way, he was able to save in his memory, the exact microsecond where Aziraphale’s face was flooded with delicious pleasure, his tongue darting out just the tiniest bit to catch a crumb on the edge of his mouth, and the filling expectantly suspended as it exited the pastry. It was unbearably erotic.  
Crowley went home that night and went straight to sleep. He was hopeful that his dreams could come up with a way to make that snapshot into a whole fantasy. He wasn’t the most creative demon in general, but his dreams could be surprisingly detailed.  
He had a few dreams that were average. He was driving his bentley along a road both new and familiar. Now he’s fighting through knee deep muck, sulfur burning his nostrils. Now he’s walking down a London street he doesn’t recognize, but knows is in London.  
Now he’s in a pile of clouds. He bounces over them, feeling entirely at home despite never having done such a thing before. He turns a corner (Crowley doesn’t have any frame of reference for clouds, and therefore registers nothing incongruous about turning the corner of a cloud) and sees Aziraphale. He’s reclining on a chaise lounge, scrolled and with thick velvet that reminds Crowley of the couch in the book shop. He’s entirely naked, genitals hidden by a fog of ignorance on Crowley’s part. But he can see him mostly clearly except for that, soft belly, gently curling hair, eyes shining and smiling lovingly at him.  
Lovingly? Oh, yes, Aziraphale loves him. He knows this just as he knows there’s a corner in the clouds, or knows a street in London even if he can’t identify it. In that soft fugue of dreamland, Crowley knows Aziraphale’s warm affection like he feels the air on his skin.  
Aziraphale is reclining on this chaise, plucking cream puffs off of a silver tray balanced on the arm, sumptuous biting into one after another. That’s all he seems to be taking; first bites. He doesn’t discard the rest of the cream puff, it just seems to magically become another unbitten, virgin puff. Each time he bites, thick, butter yellow cream spills out of the end, drips down his chin, over his blush-red bitten lips. He looks like a cherub, a delicious, unspoiled, incredibly naughty angel of love and eroticism.  
Crowley approached slowly, as if he can step too hard and disturb the whole fantasy. Aziraphale smiles enticingly. Teasing him.  
Crowley has almost met with the dream Aziraphale on the couch, taking longer than usual because time stretched slow like taffy here, hands extended to cradle his round face in his hands, when he hears a chime.  
He is pulled startlingly out of his fantasy. He is now suddenly standing in the same place, with the same view around him, but he’s aware of everything. The fog of blurred edges and ungraspable time disappears, and Crowley is very quickly flaming with embarrassment. The knowledge that he is in fact, dreaming, is a curse. It feels vaguely perverted now that he knows he’s asleep.  
Crowley, staring down at the now fully nude (and fully endowed) dream Aziraphale, thought he couldn’t feel any more gross or weirded out by himself. Then he heard a gasp behind him.  
“Oh, heavenly goodness,” Aziraphale, fully dressed minus his overcoat, was staring at the naked dream on the couch.  
“Aziraphale!” Crowley said, waving his hands in a fluster. “Um, I, hnngh.”  
Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the silent and bemusedly smiling naked angel on the chaise to look at Crowley. “Oh, hello.”  
“Listen,” Crowley started, prepared to launch into an explanation although he had no idea what he’d say.  
“Dear boy, don’t concern yourself,” Aziraphale said, walking over to the chaise. The dream sat up in interest. “I’ve seen worse in dreams.”  
“Yes, well,” Crowley said, rubbing his hand up the back of his head as Aziraphale came closer to him and the dream. “What are you doing in my dream, anyway.”  
“Bored,” Aziraphale said airily. “Didn’t want to walk all the way to your flat.”  
“Sloth,” The dream on the chaise teased with a smile. They both startled at the dream that spoke with Aziraphale’s voice.  
“You’re quite naughty, aren’t you,” Aziraphale said, eyes locked with the dream. He glanced up at Crowley, something he couldn’t identify sparkling in the angel’s eyes. Maybe he was teasing Crowley, too.  
Before Crowley could do anything, Aziraphale cradled his own face in the palm of his hand, leaned down to the chaise, and kissed his dream self.  
Crowley nearly had an aneurysm. “Ngk,” he said intelligently.  
Crowley turned his head, still inches from his mirror image, to smile beatifically at the demon. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”  
Crowley shook his head like an etch-a-sketch. Was this Aziraphale just another part of his dream? He squinted at the angel, who apparently understood what he was thinking.  
“I’m real,” Aziraphale said definitively. “You’ve never wanted to see what it’d be like to kiss a-- facsimile of yourself?”  
“Do I get a kiss from him, too?” The dream said, sitting on the chaise between the angel and demon.  
Aziraphale smiled coyly, stepping a half step back and gesturing a welcoming hand toward the dream on the couch. Crowley glanced between the two, the angel in his faded waistcoat and the naked dream. He realized he probably wasn’t going to get a chance like this, real or dreaming, and sometimes life is just so weird, that he just stepped forward and kissed the dream.  
He was delicious. Kissing him felt like dreaming, all soft edges and lost trains and painless pleasure. The dream’s tongue swept into his mouth, and Crowley felt the saccharine edge of the cream puffs. He seemed to know just what to do with Crowley to make his knees weak, and he supposed that made sense since he was a product of the demon’s imagination.  
Crowley, in a way that was intensely embarrassing, realized he was hard. The way he felt pressure, though neither the angel or dream were touching him there, meant that he was probably grinding down into the mattress in real life.  
“Oh,” he heard Aziraphale say softly. Crowley whipped around to see the angel running his fingers over himself in his trousers. He looked away from the dream’s wet and red lips, face coloring. “I’m sorry, I just-- that looked…”  
Crowley smiled smugly. “You want a kiss too, angel?”  
Aziraphale met his eyes, face red and eyes wide. Crowley cradled the angel’s face in his hands, feeling similar to the way he felt the dream, but remarkably different and real. For just a moment, the reality of what he was doing scared him. Aziraphale was his best friend for thousands of years, and what he was doing now could end things. His thoughts were quieted when Aziraphale pushed onto his toes to slam his mouth against the demon’s.  
Kissing the real thing was so different from the dream. Aziraphale was forceful, desperate, devouring Crowley’s mouth and dragging his hands all over his back like he was trying to absorb every inch of him. Crowley tried to slow him down, lovingly licking across his lips, but that seemed only to fuel the angel further. The angel moaned into his mouth as Crowley stepped backward, knocked down when the back of his knees hit the chaise.  
He fell against the naked body of the dream, who shifted so that Crowley was sandwiched between him and the excited angel who was now undoing his trousers.  
“Oh, please, can I, dear boy?” The angel asked, looking up as his hands fluttered over the demon’s belt.  
“Be my guest,” Crowley said, starting to feel a little light headed. The dream Aziraphale leaned around where the demon’s head was laying across his chest to kiss him again. Crowley gasped desperately into his mouth as Aziraphale licked over the head of his cock.  
He was kissing a perfectly naked Aziraphale, and a partially clothed Aziraphale was also sucking him off with reckless aplomb. Crowley had to imagine this is what his own personal heaven would be like. As his toes curled against the thick thighs of the real angel, and the dream sucked marks into his throat, he couldn’t think of anything better.  
Crowley shifted slightly to his side, between the dream’s legs, as the angel pressed kisses all over his hips and stomach. He now had the perfect angle to lick up the dream’s neck, kissing and sucking, nosing into his soft-as-clouds curls.  
“Oh, yes,” the dream whimpered in his ear as he ran his hands down his flank, feeling the thick and soft torso uninterrupted by bowties or waistcoats. The angel crawled over him, also pulling off his own clothes to throw them on the floor. The dream had his arms wrapped around him now as Aziraphale kneeled over his hips, hands under Crowley’s neck, just looking at him. He imagined he looked a little overwhelmed and fucked out, but in that second he almost cried. He was being held by warm, soft, loving Aziraphale on all sides; drowning in the feeling of their skin on his.  
By virtue of dreaming or miracle, he didn’t know, but his clothes were gone. On top of him, Aziraphale’s were gone too, and looking down, Crowley noticed he didn’t have the same endowment as the dream. Aziraphale blushed sweetly when he made eye contact after looking down at himself too.  
“It seemed-- easier.”  
Crowley felt another spike of intense fondness for the angel. He surged up, grasping at the angel and pulling him into a biting, sweet kiss. “It’s perfect, angel, perfect. You’re gorgeous.”  
The dream pushed Crowley until he was sitting all the way up, and shimmied out from under him. Crowley, entirely distracted by the sexy angel on his lap, simply laid back and pulled Aziraphale on top of him when the dream was gone.  
“Budge up, let us have some,” The dream said, nudging Aziraphale’s shoulder. Aziraphale did sit up, grinding down on to Crowley with the motion. They groaned together.  
“Oh, I forgot,” the angel gasped, “so sensitive, these are.”  
Crowley gritted his teeth against the incredible waves of pleasure that seemed to radiate off the hot, wet cunt sitting on his cock. The dream straddled him too, his knees under Crowley’s arms.  
Crowley, moving entirely on instinct, took the dream’s cock into his mouth. He didn’t know that at the same time, the angel would sit up and adjust Crowley until he could sink into his delicious pussy.  
Crowley’s brain short circuited for a moment. He was filled in and filling Aziraphale, connected in every way and seemingly floating in a mist of the best feelings he’d ever had in his life. Adrenaline, affection, arousal, all seemed to run through his veins as he helplessly shifted his hips. He pushed his feet into the chaise, and he was rewarded with a gasping shout from the angel. He moaned with the feeling, mouth fluttering around the dream’s cock, causing him to groan in response. It was like an endless feedback loop; Aziraphale made him feel good, he made Aziraphale feel good.  
“Wait, I have an idea,” the angel gasped out. The dream pulled out of Crowley’s mouth and he belatedly realized he hadn’t been breathing in minutes.  
Crowley breathed heavily as the angel and dream coordinated (Crowley felt rather like a large and flexible toy that they were both very excited to use) until Aziraphale was on his back on the chaise, head flat on the cushion, and the dream was kneeling over his head. He threw his head back and exhaled shakily when the angel pulled him into his mouth.  
“C’mon, Crowley,” the dream said, gesturing him between the angel’s legs. Crowley happily obliged, sinking gratefully back into the angel’s hot lap.  
The dream bounced gently, cock pulling in and out of the angel’s mouth, simultaneously leaning forward and licking into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley wrapped his hands around the dream’s elbows, hips stuttering as he sucked on the demon’s tongue.  
Muffled moans emminated from the angel below. The dream leaned back and winked at Crowley. “I’ve got just the thing, I think.”  
The dream scooted further away, hands going on either side of the angel’s soft stomach. He leaned down until he was almost laid completely over the angel, tilting his head until he could--  
“Oh, holy fucking christ,” Crowley gasped, hand flying to the soft curls. The dream was licking along the seam where Aziraphale and Crowley met, tongue dancing artfully over the angel’s clit.  
There was an almost constant streams of moans and whimpers coming from the angel now, muffled around the cock in his mouth.  
Crowley felt the sweet, numbing relief that came right before his orgasm. He knew it was building, and he smiled blissfully down at the white curls bent over his own dick, and the thick body that led to the glorious ass grinding down on the face of the angel he loves.  
He gasped, impulsively grabbing a handful of the dream’s fat ass as he bent over, orgasm jolting out of him. He felt the angel fluttering around him, tightening until the dream sat up, slipping out of the angel’s mouth so they could both hear him loudly and intensely express his orgasm. It was the first time Crowley had ever heard such blasphemy come from his angel’s mouth.  
The dream pulled on his own cock, shuffling back until he was above Aziraphale’s face. Crowley met his eyes. His angel was flushed, eyes shining and mouth well and truly used. He gave him an almost shy smile. Crowley grinned down at the angel.  
“Oh, oh,” the dream whimpered. Aziraphale tilted his head back to catch the cum that gushed from his red cock, licking lovingly over the facsimile of himself.  
Both collapsed next to each other, pulling the demon, still kneeling, paralyzed with happiness, down unto their bodies. The chaise was magically wide enough for the three of them to lay side by side.  
Crowley turned to look at his angel as the dream behind him wrapped his arms around the demon’s waist. He had a thick drop of cum on his lip, and Crowley loving ran his thumb under his chin, pushing it into his mouth. The angel tongued over it, looking directly into his eyes. Crowley’s dick twitched hopefully.  
Aziraphale smiled, licking his lips. “Tastes like cream,” He said innocently.  
Crowley chuckled, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of being entirely sated. He fell back against the dream Aziraphale, cradled between the two in perfect comfort. He dropped off almost immediately.  
He woke up in his own bed, in his own satin sheets a few hours later. Aziraphale was sitting in his bedside chair, reading a thick volume.  
“Hello, dear boy.”  
Crowley sat up slowly. He thought he’d known that the Aziraphale in his dream was real, but now he wasn’t sure. “Hello, angel.”  
“Did you sleep well?” the angel looked up at him over his tiny round glasses.  
“Erm, yeah,” Crowley said. He couldn’t get out of the bed with the erection he had.  
“Mm, that’s good,” the angel set his book aside. He pulled himself out of the chair and walked directly over to the demon’s four post bed. “Because I think I’m ready to have a little lie-down myself, now.”  
He licked his lips, glancing down at Crowley’s lap. Apparently he hadn’t been disguising that as well as he thought he had.  
“Are you sure, angel?” Crowley said nervously, even as the angel wormed under the covers.  
He popped his head out from under the comforter, and lasciviously licked his lips. “Very sure, my dear. You are absolutely delicious.”


End file.
